


Sin and Virtue

by mimi_chi, Trilies



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Corruption, Demons, Dream Sex, Frottage, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Loneliness, Multi, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimi_chi/pseuds/mimi_chi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: "I'm expecting some entertainment from you, Chikusa Kakimoto."Chikusa is a young priest and, more importantly, exorcist for the church whose skill can't be denied. Yet instead of keeping demons away, it seems to have drawn the attention of one in particular instead.... One who wants to break his quiet apathetic facade and draw him to his knees instead.To his advantage, Mukuro Rokudo has centuries of skill and knowledge of just how much Chikusa's lacking. His drawback is literally every word out of his mouth.





	1. Playing with Fire

As a whole, the human species is boring.   
  
They live, bend, and break in predictable ways. Give them a bit of wishful temptation, promises made of lies, and a weapon, and they'd kill their whole family for money, fame, a scrap of bread.   
  
Those with supposed intelligence are just as easy to con. If one told them that you could help them pierce the veil between life or death, they'd become a demon's puppet so easily. Tell them that you could give them the secret to eternal life, well, they would sign their soul over without even needing to hear the rest. Simply to appear before them is often enough to make them believe they are chosen and special, and they'd work themselves to death doing his bidding.  
  
Currently, he's been keeping a close eye on a newly minted priest- tall, pretty, and whose skills in exorcism are so impressive that already a price is on his head in the demonic underworld. That alone has been enough to draw his curiosity, and he has been indulging since then by putting little whispers into the young priest's ears now and again. Nothing too extravagant. But now, well. He wanted to meet him, to see how he would react.  
  
So he had possessed the priest's teacher, and, over the long weeks, had slowly gotten more and more comfortable in the man's skin. Humans aren't meant to be vessels for demons. Most of the time, the infernal essences of the demonic eat away at the earthly bonds which make up human beings- vinegar gnawing at an egg shell. So the teacher's body and mind had started to go, to the point where even the Pope was willing to agree to an exorcism. It wouldn't do after all, for one of their high ranking patriarchs to be crawling along ceilings, slaughtering believers, and shrieking blasphemy as his head spun on his body.   
  
They had gotten smart enough to try to restrain the patriarch, at the very least.  
  
"Kill me before I commit more sins." His breath is raspy, torn, as he slumps into the seat they have him in. Uninterested, Mukuro hovers over his shoulder and watches him suffer.   
  
It's not him he's here to see.  
  
Footsteps clicking and beating against the stone hallway just outside the door draw his attention, and he promptly begins to slip into the man's body, his own scrunching in distaste. Possession is a downgrade for him, having to try to fit all of his being into an unsatisfying sack of flesh that feels like it's practically covered in dirt and full of maggots. Every single sense of his is blunted heavily, and even his impeccable mind feels slowed, stunted. It's been centuries since he had bothered with it last, more than capable of driving people mad without ever showing his face, so to speak...   
  
...But this one might be worth the effort.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In a way, the only surprising thing in this whole endeavor is the... indirect way things have been happening.  
  
This is not the first time Chikusa has had to deal with demonic forces. To be accepted as a priest himself, capable of guarding the flock and guiding it, confronting a demon had been one of his tests. The affair had taken place in a simple blank room, his teacher behind him and the possessed soul in front, and he had done his duty has had been required of him. The many hisses, whispers, and snarls had threatened to drown out the sound of his own soft voice, but he had persevered.  
  
They say you never forget your first. However dark the situation might have been, Chikusa supposes that's true. He still hasn't forgotten a single detail of that day.  
  
Perhaps because of that, when his hair had risen on the back of his neck and he could almost feel lips along the curve of his ear with words on the edge of his hearing.... Well. There weren't many other things it could have been. Dutifully, since then, he has done his prayers and prepared for any number of scenarios including possession of his own body. He'd... almost been fascinated at the idea, in the detached way he views so much still. Nowhere in his studies has there ever been mention of what it's like to be possessed, and he has never heard his teachers mention it of their own accord. Is it uncomfortable, painful? Or is it simply nothing at all? There has only ever been the effects and changes one could notice in one possessed. With this possibility, he could experience the answer firsthand. Perhaps, he supposes, similar to the fascination of one wondering what a broken limb felt like.  
  
So for his teacher to be the one to be taken is almost a shock. Almost.  
  
There's no trace of that on his face as he enters the room, however. No grief, no shock, no anger as his eyes fall upon the poor soul restrained tightly in the chair. Behind his back, when they think he can't hear, he's heard other priests and parishioners alike say he's as quiet and emotionless as a doll. Perhaps it's true. he certainly looks it, he knows, with pale skin all the paler between his cassock and black hair making him near monochrome. The only sign of color is the purple stole hanging from his shoulders and the dull color of his eyes that matches.  
  
Dutifully, he crosses himself, but, instead of shifting into the ages long Litany of Saints, Chikusa stares over at his former teacher.  
  
Is this the same creature that's been bothering him for so long, targeting now one of the only people he has any connection to? Is it arrogance to suspect so? Well, regardless, his job is the same. He starts turning to the appropriate pages in his Bible.  
  
"...If you could surrender your name and leave this man's body, it would save us all the effort." It's a quiet bland statement, as if this occurrence is that of the mundane instead of the supernatural, and his teacher isn't looking more like a corpse than a living person. Oh, by all means he'll do all the prayers no matter the answer. You can never be too safe, and never too distrustful of the words of demons. It's just... What a tiresome and troublesome thing. He doesn't want this creature to believe that it's worth the time of God, whose power he's calling upon.  
  
Before him, his teacher's body moves slowly, carefully. Each movement is with purpose, even if it is to move the head slightly from side to side as if taking care of some ache. Only then did the face contort into a smugly amused expression, a soft chuckle escaping that nonetheless shook its shoulders. "Kufufu, I apologize for having to disappoint you, but since it took effort to get here, I would like some effort to be made before I'm sent back."  
  
There can be no doubt... It must be a demon. The voice that escapes from his mentor may be from the same voice box, but it's completely and utterly different. Too smooth, a soft and slow purr that pricks at the back of his neck. It's mocking, too, but in a way that's more than that. A particular cadence. Even as he picks at the idea, the body raises its head, and a pair of mismatched eyes somehow shine through his teacher's pupils.   
  
"I'm expecting some entertainment from you, Chikusa Kakimoto."  
  
 _Well, you’re going to be disappointed then._  It flickers through his mind, a wayward breeze of a thought, before Chikusa brushes it aside.  
  
Still, to know his name… Perhaps this is the same entity that’s been quietly heckling at him for a little while now. On the other hand, demons know a lot. It’s one of the ways they lure human beings into sin. They mix a frightening amount of knowledge with silver lies, tormenting the unaware. In the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it?  
  
He has a task to complete.  _That’s_  all that matters.  
  
The Litany of Saints takes up a nice long while to complete- so many names to request protection from, so many deliverances to request from their Lord. In contrast to it, Psalm 53 seems blessedly (pun not intended) shorter. Chikusa recites it all with the same patient, smooth tone. Only a few times does he have to look to his Bible to refresh his memory. One last prayer, and finally… The perhaps most vital part of these proceedings. The actual confrontation.  
  
He takes a breath, shoulders moving with the motion, before focusing on the peculiar mismatched gaze that’s looking back at him. "I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with any of your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign your name, and the day and hour of your departure. I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders of this place, or any of their possessions."  
  
Considering the demon’s amused reaction from before and so many other past experiences, Chikusa doubts this will work at this stage yet. Only young and weak demons would fall to Psalm 53 so easily, and those are not the kind of demons which can possess a priest. However, that is the order of such things. A cross on his person, holy water, and his stole will all no doubt be used soon enough.  
  
So it's a surprise when the body before him, stolen and captive, begins to quiver and objects around the room smash off of their places. Cautiously, he tightens his grip on his bible and another around his stole as a cacophonous wind suddenly twists to life. There seems to be no need, as not a hair from his head even shifts, but caution is better than recklessness, even as the demon shrieks in agony. Chikusa has seen this before, as other demons in the past have fought tooth and nail to stay on God's earth, howling from the effort, but...   
  
Something is wrong.   
  
Suspicious, his eyes narrow at the writhing body before him which tosses its head back to reveal wide and colorless eyes. Taking care not to show any other reaction, Chikusa merely continues beneath the sound of the screams until, finally... As the psalm nears its end, the body's head flops forward with the chin resting against its chest. Quietly, Chikusa finishes the psalm. Without his voice, the room is completely quiet- items still and unmoving where they were tossed, the wind gone as quickly as it had gone. He doesn't move.   
  
After a few seconds, a low laughter starts.   
  
It gets louder and louder, until the demon's body is shaking in mirth and not dramatics. Its head falls back, eyes as mismatched as they ever were, and its mouth curls upwards in a cruel smirk.   
  
"Try the litany next. That one's my favorite." How wonderful- a demon with a sense of 'humor'. Chikusa's expression shifts back from suspicion to its usual blankness, and he reaches down to turn the page. Even as he does so, the demon continues to speak. "Or, since you're so concerned about effort, I can tell you it'll fail. Would you like to know why?"  
  
"Not particularly," he answers dully now that the whole dramatic mess is done with. Letting go of his stole, he reaches forward to press against his former teacher's forehead. Idly, his thumb sweeps away a stray flop of hair. "They shall lay their hands upon the sick and all will be well with them. May Jesus, Son of Mary, Lord and Savior of the world, through the merits and intercession of His holy apostles Peter and Paul and all His saints, show you favor and mercy..."  
  
Clearly that's not what the demon wants to hear, although Chikusa can't imagine what it was expecting, as it slumps back into the chair with a sigh. It must be an uncomfortable position, but it doesn't seem to care much. "Or would you be more interested in knowing why I'm here?" it tries, eyes focused on Chikusa's face intensely as if it can find something.   
  
Well, in its own way, the reaction is a positive sign. While it's impossible to  _bore_  a demon out of the body it's possessed, Chikusa imagines he would still accept it. Pain, boredom, and the will of God- that's one way to do an exorcism. Now if only the creature can stop being so talkative still... How bothersome.   
  
He doesn't bother to answer the demon's question. Instead, he meets its eyes squarely as he traces the cross over his forehead, lips, and heart. "When time began, the Word was there, and the Word was face to face with God..." Reaching down, he starts to do the same to the possessed body.   
  
"And the Word was God."  
  
Yet as he tries, the demon slips a tongue out to catch at his fingers when he reaches the mouth. Chikusa can't help the way his lips twist or his nose wrinkles, and he immediately pulls his hand back. "Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος," the demon spits back with the mouth free, voice balancing poisonous mocking and contempt. "Words with no backing of faith mean little to me, priest. You'd have better luck regaling me with tales of your childhood." Slowly, it lowers its lashes, red eye still burning bright as it follows Chikusa's hand where he wipes his fingers against his clothing. "Or asking yourself how your beloved mentor succumbed to me so easily. Are you aware of his sins or only his virtues?"  
  
Dirty creature. At least the solution is simple enough. Now to finish the rest of  _this_  one, and he does so by finishing his recital of St. John. It's only when that's done and he's reaching for the vial of holy water he possesses does he entertain the creature with an answer. "I suppose he was weak. Either way, it's irrelevant to me."  
  
The demon is already chuckling from the reaction to its tongue, as if that's anything to be triumphant about, and it tilts its head to the side at an actual answer. "He wasn't weak at all," it says lowly, eyes half lidded and sharp from underneath the lashes it's borrowed. "It took quite a bit of effort to get to him. Isn't that more terrifying than if he had been easily overtaken?"  
  
"If I say yes, it’s horribly frightening, will you become quiet save for the surrender of your name?" Chikusa deadpans. Unimpressed, he carries on with his duties, murmuring out a quick blessing.   
  
"Of course I would," the demon drawls, obliging in a way that's at least 90% sarcasm and not hard to miss, "since that seems like a fair trade." As holy water is flicked across his body and face, the demon makes a face, although it's not one of pain. If anything, it's mildly annoyed as if a swarm of gnats are what's bothering it. All too soon, it's gone, and it looks up to Chikusa with a sly and amused sort of expression. "Feel free to call me Mukuro-sama. Let's get along from now on, shall we?"  
  
Chikusa had been only a second ago close to rewarding that sarcastic reaction with more holy water and a dutiful recitation of St. Mark, but he pauses at the admission of the demon's name. In such cases, when it's not forced out of them, such names are fake. Yet this demon seems... more confident and clever than other demons Chikusa has dealt with. It's enough to make him ponder if this is perhaps a mind game, where victory relies on Chikusa assuming the name is fake.   
  
Well, there's only one way to find out.   
  
"Mukuro..." He sounds it carefully on his tongue, and the demon chuckles in delight. A questionable sign. Frowning a little, Chikusa asks, "Is that your true name?"  
  
Canting its borrowed face to the side, the demon's lips curl up. "Of course not." His grin widens, and he actually has the audacity to  _wink_  at Chikusa. "You forgot the '-sama'."  
  
All Chikusa can do for a second is stare... Before, without a word, he splashes more holy water right into the demon's face.  
  
It's not something he thinks he can regret, not when the demon is reduced to staring at him in wide eyed shock for a quiet moment. It's not in Chikusa's nature to smirk, but he thinks it's a temptation right now. Demons, in his experience, are so used to being treated with reverence and fear that they never quite know what to do in the face of such blatant disrespect from someone who can withstand it. Chikusa almost thinks that, with that, the exorcism might fall back into the usual scripts: threats to himself, or his loved ones.   
  
To his surprise...  _Laughter_  bursts out from the demon. Shoulders shaking in mirth, it tips its head back and its laughter only seems to grow louder. Chikusa stares, unsure of what to do. That had been meant to be an... insult, a dismissal, a reminder that this is a confrontation of wills and that the creature isn't wanted. This is truly like no demon he's ever dealt with before, and, in the end, all he can do is school his expression back into place as he looks down at the Bible. As the demon's torrent of laughter continues, he recites the passage of St. Mark quietly but firmly. It's right as he starts to wind down to the end of it that, too, the demon's noise begins to quiet.   
  
As he looks up, so does the demon, still snickering with laughter. "You don't need holy water to make me wet, Chikusa Kakimoto."   
  
For a lack of better wording: what the hell.  
  
Most demons he's come into contact with have offered sexual services in one of two ways: the first being just crass threats more than anything, and the second being honeyed words.  
  
This is... He's not sure what to make of this.  
  
The long bland stare he directs down into the demon's gaze is just as blank as all the ones before it, with a hint of bewilderment somewhere in the undercurrent. "...You've been in that body for too long," he finally says softly. It's half said because that would explain the demon's ridiculousness, but also... He's correct. He's sure of it.   
  
His teacher's body is sturdy, to have lasted under possession for this long. Demons can often be reckless with the bodies they steal, not only from doing dangerous and violent things with them, but from ignoring the basic functions of the human body. Chikusa has seen cases where humans have become emaciated after demonic possession, the infernal thief responsible having ignored food or rest. It's not only that, either. Particularly powerful and old demons seem to have a horrible effect on human bodies, wearing their unwilling hosts down sometimes to the point of death.   
  
Not that a demon would care, of course...  
  
Yet this particular one seems to take that into consideration. "Perhaps I should make you a bargain, priest," it says, shaking the holy water off of its face. Some still remains, sizzling off of the skin, and that only seems to annoy it more. "Let me visit you again, and I will leave your teacher be."   
  
"I'm not giving you permission to possess me." While it might not show so obviously, something in Chikusa relaxes. There, this is what he's more used to. Deals, a silver tongue, promises. It's not... whatever he was talking about before with being wet.  
  
Still, what a strange request. He tilts his head ever so slightly as he stares down at the demon with an analytical tint to his gaze. Is this simply an attempt to leap from one member of the clergy to the next to harm their number? Chikusa doubts he could fight against a possession so well as his teacher, but he can at least say he won't give permission.  
  
Before he can spend too much time thinking on the question, the demon chuckles. "If I wanted to possess you, I would have done so already," it says, bored, and leans its stolen body back into the seat again. Canting its gaze upwards, it meets Chikusa's own fully. "I haven't met a human of your caliber in quite some time. I'm curious about you, Chikusa Kakimoto. Nothing more, nothing less."   
  
That can't be the half of it; demons are never so straightforward. "Flattery isn't going to work in your favor," Chikusa murmurs, and the demon chuckles again.   
  
"Kufufu, who said it was flattery? Demons are able to tell the truth." Before he can call the demon out on such a lie, its eyes slide halfway shut and it exhales slightly. "I would suggest you decide quickly. Your teacher is nearing his limit."  
  
Over the many long centuries, demons have culminated a certain reputation that even most stories know of and pass on. Selective truths and sweet promises are the tools of their trade, and have made legions of people fall prey to sin and into Hell before him.  
  
Even as he knows that, however, Chikusa is weighing over the pros and cons hastily in his mind. It would be for the best if one of the Church's patriarchs could be brought back instead of perishing. They can't afford to lose anyone, not really.  
  
Besides... This could be a test. A way to strengthen himself against demonic forces. That was why the Lord tested people in the past, after all, to make themselves stronger. Perhaps this is a similar opportunity? To learn if nothing else. Wetting his fingers with holy water, he traces the cross over his teacher's forehead.  
  
"...Leave this man alone for the rest of his life and afterlife, and you may visit me once in exchange, Mukuro. "  
  
Even if demons go back on their words, this is worth a try. If it fails, well, he can stay here for as long as necessary for this exorcism.  
  
Quiet up until this moment, the demon seems satisfied with the answer given even as holy water burns across skin. "Don't forget the '-sama' next time," he says, smug and teasing, "and we'll have a deal."  
  
And just like that, the body goes completely and utterly limp.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Pulling himself out from the teacher's body is almost blissful, and he enjoys the feeling for what it is as every single inch of him stretches out into his full and unrestrained essence. Yet he doesn't let himself enjoy it for too long. Soon enough, his gaze falls back onto the young priest which has ensnared his attention.  
  
Quite honestly, one of the things that had initially fascinated Mukuro so about this young priest had been his utter detachment. For how many demons he's defeated one by one, he's hardly looked ruffled by his feats. Now that he has met Chikusa Kakimoto, Mukuro can't say that such an impression is wrong. After all, in contrast to so many others, he hadn't succumbed to Mukuro's charisma- something that's as admirable as it is vexing. Yet he's also  _gullible_ , or, at the very least, fun to tease. It's a direct contradiction to his outwardly normal, almost boring exterior, and it makes for quite the entertaining juxtaposition. As he's known from the start, he'd been correct after all. This mortal might be worth some of his attention.  
  
His pursuit could easily gain him the reward circulating the underworld, but such a paltry thing... No, it doesn't have his interest. Anything that it could offer him, he knows he can take by force if the idea wasn't such a dull one. No, the idea which interests him is that of being able to have one of God's most devoted and unshakable followers crumble at his feet... Although he supposes he could settle with simply breaking the man's apathetic facade.   
  
Yet the key to any of it had been getting the young priest to agree of his own free will. Small concessions can be piled up over time, after all. So when he'd leaned forward to trace the sign of the cross on his host's forehead, Mukuro had seen it for what it was, what it is: an opportunity. It's why he stays thick in the air of the room, curled through the small space, and smiles to himself.   
  
For all of Chikusa's great achievements, he is alone. No one has made the effort to understand him, only to use him. At least Mukuro would have the decency to do both.


	2. Dreams

Exorcisms are long and arduous things, for the determined demon. Some cut their ties early, when they sense that the struggle isn't worth the pain. Others, most in fact, drag it out for as long as possible from often nothing more than simple brilliant spite. Regardless of which, exorcists of all sorts must do more than one confrontation. Often, such things can't be rushed...  
  
...So Mukuro finds himself justified in letting his vanity be stroked when Chikusa Kakimoto does just that.   
  
Oh, he knows it's not  _only_  for that reason which spurs the quiet haste of the young priest's words. There's a joke about it, he thinks. A religious man drowning in the ocean, refuting all help offered to him because he was so certain that God would save him. So of course, when he inevitably drowned, he tried to lay blame on God only to be told that help had been offered many times, obviously. With all his years behind him, Mukuro has watched the exact same kind of people live out their lives and found them to be the  _easiest_  to take advantage of when they're inevitably disappointed God doesn't do all the work for them.   
  
It'd be too easy, too  _boring_ , if Chikusa Kakimoto was like that. Instead, he finishes what is left of the prayers and blessings for an exorcism before dropping to his knees. Dully, keeping his presence hidden and muffled, Mukuro watches him. He's careful but efficient, looking over his mentor's vitals. The good book soon gets shut. While it may or may not be capable of a lot of things, basic first aid is not one of its qualities.   
  
How fortunate that Mukuro's young priest isn't  _that_  blinded by his faith.  
  
Predictably, the teacher is dazed and tired from how Mukuro had used his body perhaps a  _little_  carelessly. Demonic possession is probably the least of the man's problems in the end. Chikusa Kakimoto acts promptly, calling for assistance once it's certain the cleansing seems to have taken effect. Other priests and nuns hurry in, none of them distinguishable to the demon especially with his lack of interest in them. Humans, after enough centuries, all start to blur together. Yet what's truly curious to Mukuro's eyes is how the old man is helped into the car to be whisked away to the hospital...   
  
...And his young priest stays behind at the church.   
  
Ah, so perhaps sparing him wouldn't endear Mukuro to the young priest as well as he had previously believed.   
  
He shadows Chikusa's routine after that, taking in everything, missing nothing. As the young man goes to his knees to pray, no approaches him. No one checks up on him after exorcising a powerful demon. No one takes him aside to tell him to be careful. Even when after he's finished receiving blessings to cleanse himself- surely he can't believe it'll save him if Mukuro comes for him, so he wonders if it's stubbornness- Chikusa Kakimoto is given a wide berth as he tends to the church grounds. The mystery of such aloofness ensnares Mukuro's attention. Before he knows it, the day is done, and it's still with only himself (and an unseen demon) that the young priest heads for home with a rosary wrapped around his wrist.   
  
Do people fear him as much as the demons do?  
  
Mukuro stays with him all the way home on light steps, whereupon Chikusa Kakimoto immediately sets to blessing his own home. It stings- burns, in fact, but Mukuro has faced much harsher fires. Staying, he busies himself with looking around the small apartment. Nothing is attached to the walls, no photos or reminders on the fridge- it's a complete lack of personal items which speaks volumes. This could have been an apartment he had just moved into, not a place he had lived for years. Mukuro had been in ruins that had more personality of its owners, and that was after treasure hunters had stripped everything dry.  
  
By the time he's finished up his inspection through the priest's room, Chikusa is at a small table by the window with his dinner before him. Mukuro barely takes stock of the plain ingredient, because there's something else of far more interest in front of the priest as well. As he eats with one hand, the other stands posed over a small journal with perfectly white pages. Already the beginnings of a head sketch have been laid out. Mukuro can recognize the person immediately: Chikusa Kakimoto's teacher. Only.... not quite. With unabashed amusement, he watches as Chikusa Kakimoto sketches out  _his_ own heterochromic eyes with great care.   
  
Good to know that even if he hadn't charmed his young priest as he had wanted, he's still managed to ensnare his attention as much as Mukuro's own has been.  
  
When Chikusa Kakimoto finally drifts away to sleep, a cross around his neck, Mukuro settles on the end of his bed and watches him... before turning away. There are others to pursue after all, even if this young priest is his current preference.... And besides, he doesn't want to be too predictable.   
  
He'd give him a week.  
  
  
  
  
  
Despite how he's prepared for his humble abode to be turned upside down... Nothing more happens that day. In fact, with each one passing by much the same as the one before it, Chikusa could almost be mistaken that his life is going to continue on as it always has. He knows better, of course. Demons, or at least the ones that pose such severe threats to the church, are creature which have lived centuries. If any creature could beat a human in patience, then it's a demon.   
  
Yet what else can he do? Chikusa won't let himself fall prey to cowardice, hiding away in his room and biting his nails. He has work, and the church is ever busy. So he continues living his life with only a minor adjustment: he prays even more.   
  
It's one of the only stable things in his life he still possesses, after all.   
  
His childhood certainly doesn't count. He'd been a single child to first generation parents in a foreign country, their only son, and he'd been so very young when a disastrous accident had left him on his own. It's... hard to forget it all, even now. The sound of tires screeching, metal crunching, his own cries drowned out- and then pitch black all the way until he'd woken up blearily in a blindingly white room alone. Row after row of adults- some in dull nurse's clothing, others in stiff suits- visited them then, but he hadn't understood any of it, not really. It had taken some patience, both for his recovery and the fact that he was a child, until someone finally got through to him that he was completely and utterly without family.  
  
The row of foster homes that had come after had left him adrift, unanchored. For so many, he was only there for a month or two- barely enough to get to know his foster family. One or two stretched out for maybe a year. It took months and months of smashed hopes until he was finally taken in by someone who  _lasted_. By that point... Chikusa supposes he would have accepted anyone. So much religious fervor thrived in one household. To a child's eyes, it felt like it could have probably kept a hundred demons out. While the other children in that home had never cared for such strictness, Chikusa had welcomed it. It had moored him when he couldn't find any such thing with his peers, too quiet and distant to easily make friends. In many ways, not much has changed in that regard.  
  
So... There's something reassuring in knowing that merely bowing his head and believing will have his words become heard to someone who cares. Anyone.  
  
All he has to do is a live a virtuous life, serve the Lord well, and his voice will always be heard. His soul will always be safe. So Chikusa does his duties at the church well as the week passe by, tasks that he doesn't have to think twice about, and inevitably return to his humble apartment at the end of the evening. It's not the most extravagant place, but it doesn't have to be, does it? He's never wanted for much, and that includes his living space. It's fine if it's small- he's the only one living in it. It's fine if the decor is plain or nonexistent- that leaves less for him to worry about it. He reminds himself of such things often, especially on the many nights where he fixes a simple dinner for himself to eat by his window.   
  
No one would ever make a movie of his life, even with the parts where he exorcises demons, but Chikusa has long accepted that. There's little excitement, little wonder, that would come from watching him, at least that he's sure of. The only thing that might add color to his black-and-white life... are the drawings he occasionally does. He's filled book upon book by this point, often with idle sketches of a particular individual who'd caught his eye during church, or sometimes scenes from his window.   
  
While it might seem distasteful to say it, he admits that the demon, peering from the eyes of his mentor, had been one of those individuals. Heterochromia is a notable trait, one to keep an eye out for. Perhaps if he runs into the creature again, after all, he'll be able to take notes for future reference and exorcists.   
  
Despite his diligence, however, with every night that passes by peacefully, he can't help but wonder... Were the demon's words merely a bluff, to hide weakness that wasn't immediately apparent?   
  
With no evidence one way or the other, all he can do is wait.   
  
Patience rewards him one night when he awakes  _far_  before he normally does, vision blurry and head swimming. His room is still dark, the gloom cut only by his window letting in a ray of moonlight. Nothing, as far as he can tell, has changed. His books are still arrayed on the shelves neatly. As always, his desk is clear save for a single laptop quietly recharging. Not a sound disrupts the quiet of his apartment.   
  
So why does he feel so strange and distant?   
  
It's hard to explain. At some points throughout his life, he's had similar experiences: as if the world is only half there, foggy and distant. As best as he's been able to puzzle out, it's often been a side effect of particularly adrenaline filled moments although it's happened beyond them as well. Still, it's nothing that would normally wake him up... Let alone get him out of bed for. Feeling confused and uneasy, he carefully removes the covers from his legs. He shakes his head as he set his feet upon the floor, hoping that it might help and nothing changing. All he can do is shuffle out of his bedroom and out into the rest of his apartment on silent steps. And as he comes around the corner, into his living room...   
  
There's someone nestled near the windows.   
  
Moonlight streams in, framing his distinctly cut hair in a silver soft sort of halo, and a thin ponytail is draped over his shoulder that reaches his waist easily. It's a youthful looking man with fair skin, a wicked grin... and mismatched eyes. He's almost beautiful, if Chikusa hadn't already been introduced to his true nature a week ago.   
  
Ah. Things make sense now.   
  
He's humming as he flips through Chikusa's sketchbook, amusement curling his lips upwards.   
  
"Everything you imagined, Chikusa Kakimoto?"  
  
Chikusa's hand falls from where it had been ruffling messy hair, and he observes the demon for a moment longer. Even from a distance, he can't miss the shine of red and blue. "I suppose it's not surprising, considering how you were when we first met." Even as he makes his way into the kitchen area, he cautiously keeps an eye on the demon, unblinking.   
  
The demon laughs, soft and peculiar. "A demon?" he asks, almost idly, as he continues flipping through the sketchbook. Chikusa can't quite tell, so far away, but if he didn't know any better... He'd say it really is completely his down to the minute details in each sketch.   
  
However, he  _does_  know better. That's why he asks, quietly, "This isn't real, is it?"  
  
The observation makes the demon look up, gaze sharp and amused. "Is anything you know real? That book you cling to so fervently, those prayers you know by heart, the god you supposedly pray to?"  
  
This sort of thing again... In the familiarity of a place so much like his own home, Chikusa has to actively resist the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he responds dryly, "It's a bit late to try that when it worked so well on you, isn't it?" Coming to a stop, he rests his hands on the counter overlooking the little room.   
  
Never before has he had to deal with this kind of dream- which is surely what it is for how much the demon had skipped around giving a straight answer. There's no sign of break in, no one else who has the keys to his home, and it certainly explains the feeling in the air and in his head. So what kind of protection does he have here? Does the cross work, does holy water? It's hard to say... But treating this lightly can't be an option. At a loss for what else to do, he asks, "Is a theological discussion all you came to have?"  
  
"Are there any other kinds you know how to have?" the demon counters dryly. Hopefeully that means the sting of holy water is still memorable after a week's worth of time. "You didn't seem to like flattery or flirtation." He closes the book decisively, getting up to stretch as if having had to do something he hadn't in some time. Strange, considering all he does is wander a bit closer with his head canting to the side as he smirks. "Or have you been isolated for so long you can't remember how to have a proper conversation?"  
  
The words leave him quietly, but undeniably immediate. "I'm not isolated." Just... on his own.   
  
But it's fine, he reminds himself firmly. He's still living a good life. For now, he focuses on the demon on the other side of an imaginary counter space as he comes to a stop. Leaning against the counter, it's so much easier to see the details of his face despite how he's away from the moonlight: the smooth curve of his jaw, how brilliantly his eyes seem to glow, even the elegant curve of one eyebrow.   
  
"Are you so certain? Despite agreeing to be visited by a demon, there are no other priests to accompany or protect you here. No one has come to check up on you since the exorcism. Your apartment has little sign of anyone coming here but you." A pause, and a smirk starts to curl at the edge of his lips. "Well, except perhaps me."  
  
Having the utter hollowness of his life picked and prodded at draws an immediate reaction out of him. Nothing obvious, more subtle- a tension gathering in his shoulders, pale eyes no doubt going dark, and his arms cross over one another. It's an attempt at seeming authoritative but it's only half successful. Instead, he knows, it must more give off the impression that he's holding himself together. "...Everyone has been concerned with Father Morgan's condition. I can tend to myself."  
  
But it's not what he truly  _wants_. It never has been. Yet admitting such weakness to a demon is only asking for trouble.   
  
Sure enough, so soft that it could be gentle, the demon murmurs, " _Liar_." Before Chikusa can say a thing or react in any way, he continues. "We both know your mentor will make a full recovery. Still, it is admirable of your clergy, knowing full and well that a demon has taken interest in you, are trying to distance themselves further from you. I hadn't thought it possible."  
  
_Demons lie. Demons will say whatever they need to in order to drag humans down into sin. Believe in nothing a demon says._  
  
They're lessons he's listened to and committed to heart for years. Every time he face such creatures of sin, those lessons are the ones he always makes sure to recite. So why do the words still dig in like nails on the back of his neck? Why can't he fight off how his innards twist as if something had taken them in a vice? There's no escaping to compose himself with the demon right there, only a counter separating the pair of them. As with so many times before during exorcisms of the past, he has to stay in such a position as he closes his eyes. Hail Mary, full of grace... That's right. More important than his lessons, there's something else he needs to remember. Slowly, his shoulders straighten out, and he opens his eyes again to meet that eerie stare.   
  
"It doesn't matter if other humans distance themselves from me. " He has someone who will never leave him. No matter what.   
  
That doesn't seem to be what the demon wants to hear, judging by his response. "A martyr, then?" It's not obvious, but just that enough makes Chikusa wonder if such a title means he would be  _difficult_. Well, he'll have no pity for a demon, especially one that thought to go after a priest and an exorcist.   
  
"I'm hardly deserving of a title like that." All he does is his duty, and he tries not to complain. Sometimes it's not completely successful, but that's just a sign of how young and inexperienced he is, isn't it? "Is talking all you came to do? I'm disbelieving that is all a demon would want."  
  
There's a small chuckle at his incredulity, and the demon props his chin up with an upturned palm. Closer, just a little, but Chikusa stays where he is on the other side of the counter. As much as he wants to distance himself, he's not going to be chased off in his own home, even a dream of it. "Are there other things you're willing to offer me then, Chikusa Kakimoto?"   
  
"The only thing I agreed to was to let you visit me. I have no desire to give you anything else.  
  
Pushing himself away from the counter, the demon begins to saunter about the room although he glances back at him with an amused smirk. In the moonlight, his red eye glows ominously. "Do you really value your company so little?"  
  
"Do  _you_  think flattery will get you anything?" Feeling a little more sturdy, crossed arms and all, Chikusa quirks up an eyebrow. "Especially after calling me a liar... Can a demon really make that sort of accusation and expect to be taken seriously?"  
  
With a light sigh, the demon turns away from him and starts to drift off into his bedroom. That's enough to finally make a move to follow him, frowning a little. Dream this might be, and demons don't exactly care about privacy or personal space, but that doesnt' mean he has to like it snooping around in there. Especially since, in comparison to the rest of his apartment, there's a little more there. Sketchbooks that have been filled to the brink are nestled in-between holy texts. Another small shelf has its own collection of books on psychology. And perhaps most embarrassingly... Near the door hangs a rarely touched rack of varying hats.   
  
"Shouldn't that be taken more seriously than anyone else's word?" the demon asks as Chikusa trails after him. "A demon would know a liar better than anyone, wouldn't they?"  
  
"And a demon can't be relied on to tell the truth," he counters, "so accusations from one such as yourself are inherently untrustworthy."  
  
There's a small pause as the demon turns back to smirk at him, lashes lowered. "Because all men are known to be completely honest?" he asks. "Or are you just picking and choosing what to believe, like so many of the faithful? So quick to label us beyond saving, and yet you forget we were angels once, too." With that, he turns back to step into Chikusa's room, acting as if unaware or unknowing of how he's still being followed.   
  
Because, lips pursed tightly together, of course Chikusa still is. "Perhaps you were once angels. However, that does not get rid of the fact that, whenever your kind interact with humans, you attempt to drag them into sin. That is the difference between believing you, and believing a fallible human."  
  
Browsing over things casually, the demon pauses at Chikusa's bookshelves. He runs his hands gently over the spines of each of the books, taking in the titles. All he pauses for is to look at Chikusa, mouth curled in amusement again in contrast to how his eyes are sharp. "My, my, then what are your beliefs, Chikusa Kakimoto? What do you believe you deserve? To be ignored by your unhearing lord? Shunned by your fellow man?" A wicked glint in his eyes. "To be haunted by a demon?" Plucking a sketchbook seemingly at random, he goes to settle down on Chikusa's bed and appears to ignore the way the priest's eyes go cold.  
  
"Please don't act like you inviting yourself into my life is by any means something I requested, thank you..."  
  
"Didn't you?" He pauses in his perusing of the sketchbook to look up at Chikusa, one eyebrow delicately raised. "You have dispatched more of my brethren than any has in your generation. Yet instead of being hailed as a saint or savior, you're feared and shunned."   
  
"I hardly think I'm feared..." Yet perhaps he can't deny 'shunned' in the end. Before he can finish composing any further response in his head, the demon is already letting the book snap shut. Startled, Chikusa watches him stand up and step closer- close enough that he could reach out and touch him if he felt like. Having the demon so close is setting something inside of him completely on edge- like static electricity prickling in the air, feeling an earthy smell fill his lungs before a storm. Perhaps the demon can sense it as well, leaning forward as his lip quirk slightly at the corners.   
  
"I merely help grant wishes that are held quietly in the human heart. Most were grateful to know that someone had heard their prayers and cared enough to respond. Are you sure it's not in human nature to 'sin' and be forgiven in endless cycles? What joy is there to be had to be alone and righteous?" Then, so quickly it could be a time turn, the demon adds, "You're rather talented." Raising up the sketchbook, he waggles it for a moment before he turns to return it to its rightful place.   
  
The whiplash leaves Chikusa off-balance. "Thank you," he murmurs, blinking but able to breathe again with the demon no longer in his space. While he says the words, he wonders at the sincerity of the compliment.   
  
Letting out a small laugh, the demon plucks out a textbook. "You're welcome. Have you shown these to others?"  
  
"No.... I haven't." There's never truly been anyone to show them to, now that he's become an adult.   
  
To his surprise, that makes the demon frown slightly as he meets his gaze once more. "A pity. Not even your beloved mentor?"  
  
Unable to stop himself this time, Chikusa shifts with perhaps the faintest trace of uneasiness. "My teacher is a busy man. I shouldn't bother him with trivial things like that." What a strange conversation. Not only because it's happening in the middle of the night, or because he's never had it before, but who would expect a demon to lead such along? It's uncharted territories in more ways than one, so Chikusa tries to steer it back onto what he knows. "Can you really say what your kind does is out of 'caring'...?" He's seen too many possessions to believe that.  
  
"Can you really say so certainly that you're not feared?" The demon clicks his tongue. "Those who have crossed your path once are not eager to do so again. Still, I can no more speak for all of demonkind than you could mankind. I have never had any who complained about my methods." He shakes his head, almost as if in dismay of Chikusa's perfectly reasonable doubt. Really... The priest doubt there's been no complaints, not unless the demon had cut their tongues out. Talk about an insult, to think he would buy into the most blatant lie of all...   
  
Still. The question has him shifting uneasily, and he finds he doesn't much care to follow its trail. Instead, turning his head away with a frown but not enough to take an eye off of the demon, he murmurs, "For that kind of track record, it seems like you have a lot of spare time if you're investigating the sketches of a simple human who's only done them in his own..."  
  
"Kufufu are you inviting me to come back and look at them more?" He puts the textbook back in its place, and takes out the newest sketchbook to flip through its pages. Chikusa knows it well enough to recognize when he goes back to the pictures that were drawn of him. "Still, it is as you say." His shoulders roll in a careless shrug. "You humans talk about eternity with no real understanding or comprehension to the word. I have lived a long, long time, and it feels like any reason to continue is hard to come by." A pause interrupts his words as he sits back down on the bed, laying back with his hair fanning out around him as he flips through the book further. "It was no lie when I said you were a rare human, enough to pique my interest. It will be a pleasant way to pass the time, getting to know you."  
  
Honeyed words. A feeling of importance. Chikusa reminds himself that this is how demons work, even as he steps further into the room so that he might finally take a seat at his own desk. "And what wold you do instead of continuing on?" he asks, curiosity fueling his words. After a second, he clarifies, "If I wasn't here for you to bother, that is."  
  
Really, why wouldn't he be curious? Humans such as himself can't kill demons. That's not within the meager amount of power that they possess, and even then only when granted by a higher power. All a human exorcist can do is chase a demon out.   
  
But  _can_  demons die completely? Just waste away? He doubts he'll get an honest answer... but it's worth trying anyway, while the demon is feeling talkative.   
  
Chuckling lightly, the demon sits up again, tracing the sketches that had been made of him with a glove hand. "I've already said far too much for tonight," he murmurs. "Allow me to visit you again tomorrow and I might tell you."  
  
Just like that, Chikusa closes himself off and withdraws with his usual blank expression sliding into place. Already, he might be going too far. To give a demon one's consent... Well. There are reasons demons try to cajole humans into doing things of their own free will, all lies and deception. Even with how much he's been trained, Chikusa still hasn't found an answer to why, and yet if demons only needed willpower to rule over humanity, he suspects there'd be far more bloodshed in the world.   
  
"I don't have much interest in things that  _might_  happen," he says, rejecting the weak promise. Still, credit where credit is due: 'might' means that if the demon decided not to do something, it would still be perfectly within its bounds.   
  
"Even if I agreed to it, would you trust the word of a demon? You seemed not to put much stock in it only minutes ago." Mukuro cants his head to the side, lashes lowered. "Should I tell you 'yes' then to get what I want?"  
  
There's no immediate answer. Chikusa leans back in his chair, fingers grinding against cheap plastic, and thinks. Honestly, tempting fate is probably going to be one of this worse decisions, but his curiosity is still tugging at him. "...Tell me something I can find out and prove is truthful on my own, and I'll put more stock into you telling the truth."  
  
There. That should dissuade the demon a little, or at least make him hesitate. Truth isn't the usual currency of a demon, and he's met many of their kind who've preferred holy water flung into their faces than to speak it.   
  
Yet instead, the demon leans back on his elbows, and smiles like his teeths are fangs.   
  
"Your beloved foster parents are divorcing. Your foster mother has been emotionally unfaithful some time with one of the ministers of the clergy. He's leaving the faith as well to be with her."  
  
When Chikusa stares this time, it isn't the expectant patient stare of a priest willing to wait out a demon. Now, it's one of pure silent shock, something which robs him completely of breath. He'd been expecting something unpleasant- a demon couldn't be trusted to give anything else. Yet he'd thought it would be morbid, or revolting. Mocking, perhaps.  
  
Not... this close to home.  
  
As quickly as he can, even knowing it won't be much use, he schools his expression again with his lips thinned. "...I see." If nothing else, this will be easy enough to disprove.... or validate. "I'll find that out for myself, then. If it's true... you can visit me again."  
  
The demon must find his shock delicious with how easily he stands up from Chikusa's bed, and he surely must be able to tell how he struggles to keep his emotions locked away. But... That he was unaware of such a large change in his own family.... Sauntering past him, the demon heads to the doorway, and smirks at him over his shoulder.   
  
"Whenever you're ready, call for me and I will come for you."  
  
He winks, and Chikusa wakes up.


End file.
